| The Nightingale | |
| DAFYDD AP GWILYM | |
| Madog ap Gruffudd, heir of the woods, | |
| you are master of fine praise, bright weapon of metre, | |
| promoter of Mordaf or Rhydderch, | |
| 4 | plane of sense and love, |
| you were more skilled than any other, | |
| tuning–string of all skilfulness. | |
| You came to Dafydd ap Gwilym | |
| 8 | with strong free–flowing praise. |
| Do you remember at all our companionship | |
| and our complaint about the dear birch–grove? | |
| I fear that the Jealous One | |
| 12 | (a curse on him!) has despoiled it |
| without fighting or killing or burning, | |
| with his pick and his shovel—damn his rapaciousness! | |
| MADOG BENFRAS | |
| There is no need for you to grieve | |
| 16 | for any tree or birch in the world |
| whilst God leaves the holly–bush. | |
| No man will burn it or strip its leaves, | |
| and whatever bad weather comes | |
| 20 | it will never be bare or limp or withered. |
| DAFYDD AP GWILYM | |
| You would complain, indeed, most bitterly | |
| if what happened to me (my keen anger) | |
| happened to you, world's terror, | |
| 24 | fearful blow to my great distress. |
| I had no delight | |
| or solace (wicked greed) | |
| or song on a fine bright birchtree | |
| 28 | except the pretty bright grey–coloured nightingale. |
| A man from my country caused it | |
| to be indicted so that it went to you. | |
| Take good note of it if you see it, | |
| 32 | bold weaver of metre in a strong fort. |
| Amorously she sings beneath the leaves | |
| a fine psalm under a helmet of branches. | |
| Exile, gentle promise, | |
| 36 | good piper in a secluded glade, |
| lovers' mass-bell, | |
| clear, sweet and fair is its voice. | |
| Its pre-eminent song is resonant | |
| 40 | on the tip of the green branch, |
| love's morning singer, refined girl, | |
| pure black face above tables of thorns; | |
| Cuhelyn's sister, lovely little creature, | |
| 44 | mistress of the organs of Maestran, |
| a whistle six times more fluent | |
| than a hundred others, it sings from the treble string. | |
| When she went she did not leave | |
| 48 | in Gwynedd (it gets ever worse), |
| a single love–messenger, none was better, | |
| the little thief with the grey tail. | |
| MADOG BENFRAS | |
| May all those who indicted it | |
| 52 | be put on the pillory |
| in Eutun Woods for all time, | |
| so be it, amen! | |
| DAFYDD AP GWILYM | |
| May it stay as long as it wishes in the region, | |
| 56 | there to spend Christmas. |
| Wherever it is will be most pleasant. | |
| Fine gittern, God save it! | |